


Strong Enough

by FabulaRasa



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulaRasa/pseuds/FabulaRasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a fill for this prompt from Anonymous: <i>I just need more stories in my life in which Steve really enjoys being bigger than Tony, and easily able to pick him up or hold him down. And/or, Tony loving that Steve is so much bigger.</i> I chose to concentrate on the "or" part of that prompt, so I hope it suits. Many thanks to Amanuensis for heavy-lifting beta duty on this one, and for bringing The Avengers into my life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strong Enough

“Okay, the courtesy thing, that’s apparently metastasized, right, some sort of terminal condition? Because I mean come on, no one is this polite all the time.”

Steve stopped his kisses up Tony’s back. Tony’s back was a beautiful thing, and that was enough reason for kissing it, but also because Tony was not too fond of face-kissing. _If I kiss your mouth, that’s because I’m measuring it for my dick,_ Tony had said, and Steve had shrugged, because it wasn’t important to him. Just now, he had been concentrating on a line of kisses that followed the dip of Tony’s spine, skirting the knobs of his spinous processes. He was even considering throwing the term _spinous processes_ out there, too, because Tony liked it when Steve got all technical on him in bed, using terms he remembered from his Anatomy of Drawing class. It was how Steve had finally gone beyond caricature, in his illustration: blood and bone and muscle, knowing what had gone where, and what caused a shadow here, a plane of light there. Names showed you shapes, sometimes.

“Hi, yeah, right here, I’m the guy facedown and buck-ass nude underneath you, am I boring you here?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, a lazy smile, and as usual he wasn’t sorry at all. “What were you saying?”

“I was _saying_ ,” and Tony twisted, facing him now, “that not all sexual interaction has to be so fucking _polite_. I realize that where you’re from Dick is always careful to make sure Jane comes first, but hey, here’s what, I’m not your Jane, all right? I’m not your best girl, so enough with the hearts and flowers, Andy Hardy.”

“Mm,” Steve replied, kissing his leisurely way up the inside of Tony’s arm. “I see how unsatisfying my lovemaking is.” And he arched a brow at Tony’s swollen purpled cock between them.

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, you’re too goddamn earnest for—” and his head tipped back as Steve gave his cock an earnest lick, followed by a longer and more earnest suckle. Tony fisted a fingerful of ash-blond hair. Steve could feel the beginnings of his victory as Tony sank back into the bed, fingers going slack, but then the dark head snapped back up, eyes wide and electric.

“No, no no no no you do not get to do that. Half the time when we are in bed I feel like you are imagining something with rose petals. Are you imagining something with rose petals, or is it a field of violets? You are not going to go all field-of-violets on my dick just because you know that your mouth is my Kryptonite.”

Another soft lick up the side of Tony’s shaft this time. “I can’t tell if that’s an actual reference, or another reference that’s supposed to insult me,” he mused. “Because if so, I might be forced to—” _smack_ directly across his face, hard enough to push his face full to the left: a well-aimed backhand, with all Tony’s not-inconsiderable force behind it, clean across his jaw. 

“I am not your fucking girl,” Tony growled, low, “and you could use a reminder of that.” It was a pretty menacing growl for someone whose arm was currently held immobile in a grip that had to feel like concrete. “You think I’ve got a fucking superhero in my bed because he has amazing hair?”

Steve grabbed the other arm. “I don’t know, why do you have me in your bed? Why don’t we have that conversation, Tony?”

“Yes, excellent, I forgot, _conversation_ is why I have you here. I take it back, _you’re_ the girl. Are you wet yet, Dolores?” 

Steve pushed both Tony’s arms over his head and pinned him with one hand. “Shut up,” he whispered. “Shut your mouth.”

“Fuck you, Rogers. You think rough sex is where you forget to take off your athletic socks, and the last interesting sexual interaction you had was in 1936 when the spunk on your Betty Grable pin-up stuck to your copy of Boys’ Life, and as for the last— _aaahh_ ,” he ended on a gasp, but he was lucky to manage even the gasp: Steve’s fingers gouged his arms, Steve’s hand gripped the underside of his jaw, Steve’s body pressed into his, and thighs of solid iron pushed him into the mattress. Even his feet were immobile, and Steve could catch even the stutter of breath, the spasm of diaphragm that told him Tony was having some trouble breathing underneath the massive ribcage threatening to crush him. External intercostals contracting, pushing back. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony choked out. And then a swallow, and quieter: “Fuck yes, hold me down.”

Wordlessly, Steve flipped him like he was a child, a rag doll, and he noted this position made it a bit harder for Tony to breathe. That ought to take care of his smart mouth for a while. He got Tony’s ass underneath him and just rubbed, just pushed his cock up and down that crack until he could feel the trail of sticky he was leaving, and then he pushed apart Tony’s thighs so he could rut in the join there, that beautiful join of gracilis and adductor magnus, only it wasn’t even a push, just a careless thrust of his cock, his cock that was stronger than the firmest muscle in Tony’s beautiful body, Tony’s body stretched beneath him. There was a sound that caught and died in Tony’s throat, or that there wasn’t enough air for, and that tiny sound went straight to his hungry cock. He pushed forward with no thought but his own release, and every upthrust kissed Tony’s ballsac with bruising force. With a single flex of his thigh he brought Tony’s legs in tighter, fucking that luscious flesh-glove of ass-thigh, and he fisted a clump of dark hair to bring Tony’s ear closer.

“Next time I think you’ll just shut up,” he murmured, and on _up_ he hosed the back of Tony’s balls. “Won’t you, won’t you just shut up,” he crooned, not knowing any of the things he was saying, the hot light of his orgasm shivering his body. He came down only slowly, and it might have been close to a full minute before he heard and registered the _please_ that was in some semblance of Tony’s voice. All of Tony's muscles were locked together in one ball of cramp, and Steve realized it wasn't just climax, it was pain, whole-body _pain_ that Tony couldn't hide or break. 

“Jesus Christ,” he exhaled, and his own muscles were aching just the slightest from the hold he had on Tony, what the hell Tony must be feeling he could not imagine. “Jesus, please no,” he just kept saying as he flipped Tony over, as fast and as gentle as he could manage, and the spasm of pain on Tony’s face ripped his gut open. And then there was a sound—some broken, wheezing sound coming out of Tony, maybe from his broken ribs or his punctured lungs or—no, the bastard was laughing. _Laughing._ A long, low self-satisfied chuckle. And then it was that Steve felt the wet puddle on the mattress beneath him, and saw Tony’s limp cock, and he brushed a strand of dark hair out of his lover’s face and resisted the urge to kiss him, kiss him, from his temporalis muscle to his mentalis. 

“So. That, huh,” he said ruefully. And he did kiss him then, in an even more forbidden spot: right by the arc reactor, just beyond the rim of blue light. “Mind if I ask why?”

“Yeah,” Tony croaked. “Because I see how you hated it.”

Steve was inspecting the line of Tony’s arm, the marks on his jaw. “I didn’t,” he admitted. “You know I didn’t. But don’t ask me to do that a lot. Please, just—don’t.” And he rested his forehead, lightly, on Tony’s chest. A limp hand stroked his hair, and Steve was afraid to move or breathe. Whatever this thing was between them, it wasn’t built of tender gestures. Lots of unspoken agreements seemed to be fraying at the edges. Steve raised his head.

“But it is amazing hair, you have to admit, you foul-mouthed son of a bitch,” he said, and was rewarded for his smart-ass with a hand twisting in that hair and pulling him down to Tony’s mouth. He stopped at the last minute, hesitating, and Tony got the message, and hauled himself up so they were both sitting. It wasn’t a kiss so much as an extended negotiation.

“Well,” Steve breathed, “maybe once a week or so. Not more than that, unless, you know, you really needed me to. Maybe Mondays and Thursdays. Unless Wednesdays would also be good for you? Because maybe I could—”

“Hush,” whispered the scratch of hair against his face, and Steve turned into it.


End file.
